


Safety

by Sunnyrea



Series: The War [12]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, French, Historical, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Valley Forge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 04:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10801815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyrea/pseuds/Sunnyrea
Summary: Baron Von Steuben arrives at Valley Forge to whip the Continental army into shape. John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton are enlisted to translate. However, the Baron's attentions to one of them bring problems and concerns to these close friends.[Part of a series but can be read as a stand alone story]





	Safety

“Baron Von Steuben has arrived.”

Alexander Hamilton and Tench Tilghman look up from their writing to John Laurens in the doorway instantly. Robert Hanson Harrison, the oldest in age, and Richard Kidder Meade who had been walking behind Laurens in the hall stop short.

“Now?” Hamilton asks.

“He is already with his Excellency inspecting the men.” Laurens crosses his arms as he leans against the doorjamb. “He has brought a dog.”

“A dog?” Tilghman asks.

“What kind of dog?” Meade adds.

Laurens shakes his head. “That is only the beginning of his party, there are more.”

“More dogs?” Meade questions.

Laurens sighs. “He is here, that is the extent of what I heard; he is unimpressed thus far.”

The other aide-de-camps all murmur, most unsurprised yet still miffed at any slight on their army or General.

“What is this Prussian unimpressed with?” Harrison asks with an air of annoyance.

“There is much to be unimpressed with,” Hamilton cuts him off before pride can injury any. “We are likely to do well with his help as his military history is exemplary.”

Tilghman nods and claps Hamilton’s shoulder. Then he looks at Laurens. “Are we to meet him?”

“I assume so but I know not when.”

A rumble of disappointment runs through the aides but none outwardly complains.

“I can tell you that the three of us are requested when they do arrive,” Laurens says with a gesture to Hamilton and Tilghman.

Tilghman smiles. "Joy."

Laurens flashes Hamilton a look before he turns out into the hall. Laurens has no orders yet as to arrangements for when the Baron returns beyond they three aide-de-camps but he sees some lower staff members running about with an urgency that speaks to an imminent return.

“Did you see him?”

Laurens turns to Hamilton now beside him as they pick up their cloaks from where they hang on the wall. “I did not.”

Hamilton frowns. “A pity, it might have distracted from the cold for but a moment.”

Laurens chuckles, handing Hamilton his hat. “I have no doubt we will see plenty of him and be required to write his correspondence as well.”

“Surely he has his own aide.”

“He does,” Laurens replies. “A Du Ponceau.”

Hamilton raises his eyebrows. “My.”

“Yes, but you can expect he shall require more.”

“How fortunate for us.”

Laurens laughs and taps his fingers over the back of Hamilton's hand. Hamilton smiles at him and brushes his hand low over Laurens' coat. Then they flip their cloaks over their shoulders, hats in place, and Laurens pulls open the front door letting in a gust of cold morning air. A moment later, Tilghman steps out behind them. The three of them have little time to wait before they see General Washington riding toward them with a large man, also on horseback, riding beside him.

“Von Steuben,” Hamilton and Laurens say together.

“Like Mars come to bring the heat back to battle,” Tilghman says with a sound like awe.

“Poetic,” Laurens says dryly.

The General dismounts first as the party stops in front of headquarters. The three aide-de-camps salute and stand at attention. His Excellency nods at them and they drop their arms. Von Steuben says something to a shorter man beside him who translates into what sounds like French to General Washington. Washington gestures to Tilghman, Hamilton and Laurens. The three of them march forward and stop in front of the General with a clipped “sir,” between them.

“Colonels, this is the baron's military secretary Pierre Etienne Du Ponceau. If you would be so kind.”

“Sir?” Laurens asks.

Du Ponceau bows to him, “Bonjour, monsieur, je comprends que vous parlez français?”

“Oui,” Laurens replies, Hamilton a second later with Tilghman, “Oui, Monsieur.”

“Parfait!”

The Baron says something else to Du Ponceau. It sounds like German but different. Laurens only knows a few words of German and that knowledge comes from text, not speech. Du Ponceau chuckles, looks at Laurens for a moment then says something back to the Baron that Laurens still cannot follow. Laurens shoots a look at Hamilton. Hamilton only shakes his head once almost imperceptibly. 

“Shall we retire?” Washington asks to the baron, though he gestures to Hamilton as he says it.

Hamilton repeats what the General said in French, which Du Ponceau relays again in what, Laurens finally realizes, as he should have earlier, is Prussian. The baron nods and the group moves toward the building. Laurens represses a sigh. The conversation with their new military advisor is going to be difficult.

 

One week later, Laurens and Hamilton work side by side near the windows at one of the smaller tables in the room occupied by all the aide-de-camps. The fire is on the opposite side of the room leaving Laurens' and Hamilton's corner cold. Laurens presses his knee into Hamilton’s, trying to steal a bit of the other man's warmth. He hears Hamilton make an amused noise but Hamilton does not move away. The two of them work on translating the French instructions from Von Steuben's secretary into English. The Baron has a long list of improvement in organization for the army.

“Separate rows for command, officers and enlisted men,” Laurens reads.

“Distinction of rank maintained?” Hamilton muses.

“A boon to discipline.”

“And avoid fraternization between rank.”

Laurens chuckles, “one need not move a hut to accomplish that in many cases.”

Hamilton chuckles. “Do you avoid the common soldier, Colonel Laurens?”

“I prefer him.”

Tilghman tosses a quill at the pair of them, leaving a black blot on the top of Laurens' page. The two of them look up and Tilghman gives them both a glare. Laurens cocks his head to the side with a frown as Hamilton tosses the quill back at him. Laurens sees Harrison roll his eyes but does not bother to look up. Laurens almost wishes he had snapped the quill instead but only to see Tilghman's annoyed face. 

“There.” Hamilton turns to Laurens as he puts his quill down. “Are you near finished?”

“Near.”

“Very near?”

Laurens shoots him a look. “Would you have me mistake a ‘oui’ for a ‘non,’ Hamilton? I am near.”

Tilghman chuckles into his parchment.

“Well, needs must,” Hamilton says brushing a hand over Laurens' shoulder. “I must bring these to the General so such changes can be implemented; many a structure will need to be rebuilt.”

“Blessed not to be on the duty of digging new latrines,” John Fitzgerald mutters.

Tilghman laughs again. “Better the kitchens on the far side instead.”

“Or simply be stuck as we are with cramped hands and inked fingers,” Harrison chimes in from the corner. “What say you, Hamilton?”

Hamilton leans against Laurens' chair with an uninterested air. “I shall do as I am bid.”

“And translate more French no doubt,” Tilghman says at the same moment Du Ponceau opens the door and walks in.

“Bounjour mousiers.” He holds out a stacks of papers toward the standing Hamilton. “Plus de commandes du baron.”

“What time is it?” Laurens asks as the papers pass over his head.

“Gone six,” Fitzgerald says.

Laurens looks out the window at the rising sun then stands up. “Je vais avec vous,” Laurens says to Du Ponceau.

Hamilton frowns at Laurens. “You shall go? Are you certain?”

Laurens nods. “Your translations and writing are quicker than my own, Hamilton. It is best you stay here to do them.”

Hamilton smiles at the praise. 

“I can assist as well if you should need, ” Tilghman adds.

Hamilton frowns as if the offer of aid is a slight but it disappears quickly. He picks up the pile of translated reports written between the two of them. He hands them to Laurens then sits down again with his new stack of French needing to become English.

Laurens watches Hamilton for a few seconds, head bowed, red hair catching sunlight, then he turns and nods at Du Ponceau. “Allons-y.”

Laurens follows Du Ponceau out of the room and down the hall. Their standard morning duties since Von Steuben's arrival have turned to a focus on translation for Laurens and Hamilton, occasionally Tilghman as well. Von Steuben writes his daily changes and advisements for the improvement of the army's function, organization and cleanliness in his native Prussia. His secretary translates these daily missives into French. Laurens and Hamilton then labor through the evening and often morning after on translating the French into English for the General and the rest of the commanders to read and then implement. The processes is labor intensive and certainly delays the passing of information into action. However, language barriers cannot be surmounted another way at present as there is little time to teach the baron English or the General French.

Laurens picks up what is probably his hat from a peg by the door then he and Du Ponceau walk out of headquarters. They follow the path for about fifteen minutes down toward the main encampments. At present, tents are being moved, shifted into proper rows of the same number, organizing into appropriate brigades. Some huts and temporary buildings are taken down and wood carried off to wherever it has been decided the structure should be moved to. It seems a major aspect of the Baron's plan is to organize and improve discipline within the army. The better the organization, the better the army should function, less loss of supplies or confusion of duties. Laurens is impressed.

“Par ici,” Du Ponceau says over his shoulder to Laurens as they turn left down a wide path between rows of tents. 

Laurens sees a large tent at the far end, most of the flaps are down to guard against the cold but through an open partition at the front Laurens spies General Washington.

Du Ponceau knocks his knuckles against the wood post bisecting the door as the two of them arrive. “Bonjour.”

General Washington nods and gestures to the tent at large. “Yes, come in.” He spies Laurens following the other man and smiles. “Are you to be my ears and mouth today, Laurens?”

“For the moment at least, your Excellency.”

Du Ponceau looks between them. “Oui?”

Laurens nods. “Oui.”

Du Ponceau nods then turns and walks back out of the tent. Laurens frowns after him then looks back to the General.

Washington smiles. “To fetch Baron Von Steuben. We were accomplishing precious little in your absence.”

“Ah. Also, General.” Laurens pulls the morning translations from his coat and hands them to the General. “Yesterday’s reports from the Baron.”

“Very good.” Washington sits down to read the pages as Laurens stands and waits.

It is only a few minutes later that Du Ponceau and Von Steuben walk through the tent opening again. 

Washington stands as they arrive. “Sirs, a pleasure.” 

Laurens repeats in French and Du Ponceau relays again in Prussian. Laurens feels tired already.

The four of them sit down to discuss The Baron's plans to begin a training regimen for the enlisted men, first with a smaller group which will then be able to instruct the larger whole. The conversation is slow with so much back and forth but it works as well as can be expected, especially with Laurens and Du Ponceau attempting to write down the plans from their officers for the later follow through.

“Ralentissez!” Du Ponceau snaps at Laurens at one point.

“As though you await my pleasure in turn!” Laurens snaps back.

Du Ponceau may not understand the words but he certainly understands Laurens' tone.

“Êtes-vous insubordonné avec moi?” Du Ponceau snaps

“Oui!” Laurens huffs. “If you continue so!”

“Gentlemen!” Washington snaps.

Laurens and Du Ponceau look at the General. Von Steuben pats Du Ponceau on the arm and he settles back in his chair. Laurens nods at the General with a similarly chastised expression. Laurens glances at the other pair and sees Von Steuben watching him. He smiles at Laurens as he leans toward Du Ponceau and says something. Du Ponceau glances at Laurens and nods. He chuckles and sits up straight again. They both look at Laurens a moment longer then turn back to General Washington. Laurens frowns.

An hour later, the ranking parties stand leaving Laurens and Du Ponceau with the lion’s share of the work to transcribe into more proper reports and then trade for translation. Laurens wonders why he did not allow Hamilton to go in his stead. Laurens leaves the tent with the Prussians. As they exit, Von Steuben stops and stares at Laurens, his eyes sliding up and down Laurens' face. He then says something Laurens cannot make out. Laurens knows several languages but Prussian does not relate well to any of them. Du Ponceau chuckles and shakes his head. 

Laurens looks at him in question. 

Du Ponceau shakes his head again. “Ça ne fait rien.”

“Mais...”

Von Steuben says something again to Du Ponceau then walks away down the line, one of his attendants running up carrying Von Steuben's dog.

Laurens looks at Du Ponceau who smiles in a somewhat curious manner. “Well?” Laurens asks, not bothering with the French.

Du Ponceau sighs. “Il a dit, vous êtes un bel homme.”

Laurens eyebrows fly up. “Handso – Beau?”

Du Ponceau only smiles again then turns away with a brisk salute. Laurens is so surprised he forgets to salute back.

Laurens walks alone back to Washington’s staff house. He breathes in and out slowly. He had heard rumors of Von Steuben's past, his... attentions. Surely it could only be chance he would say something like that to Laurens?

“’You are a handsome man...’” Laurens sighs. “Damn it all.” 

Hopefully it was just a passing comment meant to off put him, play with the staff member who ruffled Du Ponceau’s feathers? If that should be the case, the baron and his secretary would be successful in their aim. Why would the Baron call him handsome? What could be his intention? Once he reaches the house, Laurens decides he must put the moment out of his mind. He has much work to do and need not let one comment distract him nor should he overthink it.

Inside, Laurens hangs up his hat and cloak then walks over to the aide-de-camp office. He finds Hamilton right where he left him. Tilghman is gone now and Harrison has moved to the far table with two books open next to whatever he works on.

Hamilton looks up as Laurens enters and smiles. “Caught you, did they?”

“Yes.”

“It should lessen the time spent were we to find someone who speaks Prussian,” Hamilton remarks.

“Are you endeavoring to learn?”

Hamilton laughs. “Perhaps I shall.”

“And yet your learning would not come with the swiftness required.”

Hamilton makes a rueful face as Laurens sits down beside him again. “You doubt my will?”

Laurens rubs a hand over his face as he places his stack of paper onto the table. He pulls his hand away again, leans back in the chair and smiles at Hamilton. “Never.”

Harrison suddenly stands up, snapping one book closed. “Do they expect the law simply to change because of the movement of an army?”

Laurens and Hamilton look at Harrison in surprise.

Hamilton frowns. “Though I know not your disagreement Harrison, I can guess, and, of course, the answer is yes.”

Harrison groans, picks up both books and marches from the room grumbling. “I cannot force the city to appease the congress because they ask politely.”

Laurens and Hamilton glance at each other.

“And I hoped so that we would eat in the following weeks,” Laurens says.

Hamilton sighs. “Perhaps Von Steuben's presence can change our supply of food and ammunition.”

Laurens scoffs. “Ammunition perhaps.”

“Speaking of,” Hamilton says putting his quill down in the inkpot. “How fared the discussions today?”

Laurens clears his throat and does not meet Hamilton’s eye. “You have been in my place; I imagine it the same.”

He feels Hamilton leaning forward, trying to catch his eye. “Did you start an argument with Du Ponceau?”

Laurens whips his head around, mouth agape. “I...” Laurens clears his throat again. “I did my duty, of course.”

Hamilton laughs and picks up his quill again. “The man is quite French.”

Laurens shuffles through his papers. “Yes, quite.”

Laurens finds himself some unused paper and begins to put his notes into order. Next to him, Hamilton pauses. “What is amiss?”

Laurens glances at him. “What?”

“What is amiss?” Hamilton repeats though they both know Laurens heard him perfectly.

Laurens looks at the papers in front of him for a moment then tilts his head. “Only that... some of the talk of the Baron, of his personal...” Laurens gives Hamilton a look then turns back to his pages. “That it may not simply be rumor.”

Hamilton tenses and Laurens sees his hand on the table curl into a fist. “Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Hamilton insists, clearly wanting more information.

Laurens sighs and looks at Hamilton again. Hamilton has an expression on his face like he wants to fight someone. “It was of little consequence.”

“Little consequence?”

“Yes.”

“'Of little consequence' is lacking in a definite estimation of events, Laurens.” Hamilton leans closer. “And you know I can imagine many avenues.”

Laurens sighs again, turns around to the side in his chair so he faces Hamilton. He puts a hand on Hamilton's shoulder. “It was merely words and I could have simply misinterpreted the meaning.”

“I suspect not.”

“Hamilton...”

“If I must I will go out and –”

“Fine, calm yourself. He simply remarked on my being handsome.”

Hamilton raises his eyebrows. “Du Ponceau?”

“Von Steuben.”

“And Du Ponceau repeated thus to you?”

Laurens clears his throat as he turns back around in his chair to face their table. “It seemed the Baron encouraged it.”

Hamilton laughs in an incredulous manner, shuffling his papers. “Well.”

“Hamilton...”

He picks up his pen, twirling it in his fingers. “You spoke true, it is simply words.”

“Words, yes...” 

“Words he should not speak so openly,” Hamilton says quietly.

Laurens breathes in slowly. “Yes.”

Hamilton turns to Laurens. “Do you think they fear…”

“No, I think they both feel themselves guarded by the safety of language.” Laurens raises his eyebrows. “Their Prussian is comprehensible only to them lest they decide to relate what they choose in French.” Laurens takes Hamilton's quill and dips it in the ink. “I suppose they think me low rank enough to not be of a danger or simple enough to not imagine any further meaning in such remarks.”

Hamilton purses his lips. “It could be innocent.” Laurens gives Hamilton a look which tells plainly what he believes of such 'innocence.' “No,” Hamilton says. “You are right.”

Hamilton grips Laurens' hand briefly, giving it a squeeze. “It shall come to nothing.”

“Yes,” Laurens agrees. “I shall see it so.”

Hamilton rubs his thumb over the back of Laurens hand for a moment with a small smile then lets go again. They both have much still to write and send back to the General.

 

Over the next weeks, Von Steuben's plans are put into action, a new kitchen built on one side of the camp with latrines dug on the opposite side. Ranks are organized and placed accordingly about the field in tents and huts. Inspections of supplies are completed weekly to account for all muskets and powder and artillery. Daily drills start and the whole encampment begins to look orderly, less on the verge of death in the snow as they had been for months. Laurens and Hamilton are called upon regularly to follow the General and the Baron, keeping the flow of conversation intact.

Today, both Laurens and Hamilton sit in the command tent of McIntosh’s brigade with Washington, Von Steuben and Du Ponceau. The flaps of one side of the tent are open allowing for a line of about two dozen officers to listen to the first stages of Von Steuben’s new training plan. Von Steuben paces through the tent, jabbering quickly in Prussia so that even Du Ponceau must ask him to slow down.

“Et l'utilisation des baïonnettes,” Du Ponceau says to Hamilton.

“The use of bayonets,” Hamilton repeats to the officers

“N'est pas pour... oui...” Du Ponceau switches to Prussia as Von Steuben does not pause in his obviously affronted explanation.

Hamilton and Laurens glance at each other.

“Les putain de baïonnettes ne sont pas pour la cuisine...” Du Ponceau says with an exasperated look toward the heavens.

“The bayonets are not for cooking,” Hamilton repeats without curses.

“Damn bayonets,” Laurens mutters as he makes a note on his page.

Von Steuben picks up a bayonet from the table and gestures toward it as he speaks. Du Ponceau sighs and says something in Prussian to the Baron, then repeats in French, “Vous ne pouvez pas dire baise.”

Laurens cannot stop a huff of laughter which makes the General raises his eyebrows. Hamilton watches the two men arguing for a moment.

“It appears they disagree somewhat on the Baron's colorful language,” Hamilton says to General Washington.

Washington smiles. “I have heard such of the Baron.”

Laurens bites the edge of his lip and does not laugh again.

As the sun sets after a long day with Von Steuben and the training regimen, Hamilton and Laurens walk back to headquarters. Snow no longer covers the ground now but March still bears down cold on the two of them.

“I feel the new line of training should benefit us well when the fighting resumes,” Laurens says as they walk.

“And one hopes we shall both be on the field to benefit from it,” Hamilton adds.

“I do believe the damn bayonets will get infinitely more use than hereto before.”

Hamilton chuckles. “The common man’s sword?”

“Quite so.”

“And yet we still must daily count the men to find the loss of those deserting for the safety of home and hearth.”

Laurens glances at Hamilton and the dark tone of his voice. “Cowardice conquers many.”

“As much the cold.”

Laurens huffs. “I prefer to retain my honor through fear or chill.”

Hamilton laughs. “There would never be a doubt, my dear Laurens.”

Laurens smiles and side steps slightly so his hand brushes with Hamilton’s. Hamilton smiles at him, wiggles his fingers so they tap against Laurens'. Laurens laughs once and thinks about a room of their own, Hamilton's eyes heavy with sleep.

“I do believe I have learned more Prussian swears than I should care to learn,” Hamilton says with a careless tone bespeaking intention.

Laurens chuckles. “Oh yes?”

“The words most repeated no doubt were the swears. I feel I could learn the whole class of Prussian swearing over only a few weeks.”

Laurens laughs again. “Just so. For a Baron, he speaks with the class of a sailor.”

“And does frustrate his secretary so.”

They both laugh at that.

“Has he...” Hamilton begins then stops, glances off toward the distant woods, dark now with the sun low behind them.

“Yes?” Laurens prompts.

“Has he said more to you of a nature he should not?” Hamilton asks quietly.

Laurens waits until Hamilton looks at him again then shakes his head. “No.”

Hamilton nods back at Laurens in the dark. “Good.”

“I do hope you are not allowing it to worry you?”

Hamilton says nothing for a moment then shakes his head. “Not actively.”

They near the house now, candles still burning in all the first floor windows. Laurens sees the shape of men seated at table, either eating or still working on dispatches.

“Laurens.”

Laurens looks over at Hamilton. He smiles and gestures to the right with his head. They veer off away from the main headquarters toward the small stables on the other side of the road. The stables are quiet, all the riders who left during the day not like to return until at least tomorrow. The kitchen up at the house is quiet, the hour being late, and no candles burn within; those working inside the main building are unlikely to immerge now. They move around the stables to the far side so no window on headquarters has a line of sight on their spot. The nearest cabins and tents are not near at all, so much that the sound of men is barely distinguishable. They could almost be truly alone.

Hamilton touches Laurens’ waist and walks him backward until Laurens knocks into the stone of the building. Laurens holds Hamilton's arms and watches him. Hamilton presses close so he leans against Laurens, one hand playing idly with the twist of Laurens’ hair on his neck. Hamilton hums deep in his chest so Laurens feels it too.

“I would keep you safe,” Hamilton whispers.

“Would you?”

“A desk to write by, just as worthy a cause to serve the country.”

“The same as you serve,” Laurens says, his hands resting low on Hamilton’s back. “But we both would rather more than pens and paper and have done so.”

Hamilton sighs and runs his other hand along the edge of Laurens' face. “True.”

“Yet your desire to keep me safe cannot be reconciled with your desire for command.”

“And why not? Were I in command I could send you to the back of the column.”

Laurens gives him a look. “Would you disgrace me so?”

Hamilton purses his lips, leans in and kisses Laurens slowly. “No, I would not.” He kisses Laurens again. “I would put you right beside me then.”

“Yes.” Laurens says kissing him back. “That I might protect you.”

“That I might protect you,” Hamilton counters.

Laurens laughs, his nose bumping Hamilton’s. “That may be the best you can hope for by way of safety.”

Hamilton kisses Laurens once more, deep and his hand traveling down Laurens' chest, his body's response more than either of them could hope for out in the cold, in the close quarters they share. Laurens grips Hamilton's hips and wonders how soft the ground may be now.

Hamilton finally pulls back enough so Laurens can see him. “Laurens, I…”

Laurens glances around the corner of the stables back toward the main house. It area is utterly deserted. Laurens pulls Hamilton even closer by his lapel while his other hand slides down between them to the front of Hamilton’s breeches. Hamilton gasps once but does not stop him. Laurens removes one button, enough space for his hand, Hamilton following his example. The stark contrast of the cold around them and warmth between them makes Laurens breath fast and shallow as they grasp each other, hands moving quickly. Hamilton closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Laurens’, his lips hovering just above Laurens’ so Laurens feels the quickness of his breath. For a moment Laurens thinks of nothing else but Hamilton in his arms, under his hand, Hamilton touching him. 

They make short work of the moment they have, gasping together before searching for a clean handkerchief between them. It is a risk they should not have allowed and Laurens thanks the darkness of Pennsylvania and the lasting cold at keeping most men indoors and uninquisitive.

“And here I spoke of safety,” Hamilton chides.

“Then perchance you should have stopped me.”

Hamilton smiles, as he cleans them both with the cloth he found in his coat. “I felt such boldness beneficial for the moment.”

“Ah yes.”

Hamilton kisses Laurens once more then takes a step back. He is grinning like a child on Christmas. 

Laurens smiles back. “But perhaps duty still calls indoors?”

“Always, Laurens.”

 

Laurens arrives at Knox’s artillery brigade at ten in the morning carrying the most recent translations from the day before. The training regimen is coming along well, though they have put little of it into practice as of yet. The few sessions with the officers were rather laborious due to the extent of translation required. However, Von Steuben has already gained a popularity around the camp for his obvious swearing and friendliness with the common soldier. Laurens cannot deny the man appears to truly care about the cause and state of their army.

“General Washington.” Laurens salutes as he finds the General speaking to General Knox.

Washington smiles at him. “More advancement on the plans for the training program?”

“Yes sir, it appears nearly complete.” He hands the papers to the General. “Hamilton and Meade have been working closely with the Baron and his secretary as well.”

Washington chuckles as he looks down at the pages. “Yes, I am well aware.”

“They believe the regimen should be complete within less than a fortnight.”

Washington looks up in surprise. “That soon? Excellent.”

Laurens nods and takes the notes Washington hands him in turn.

“If you could translate those into French for the Baron's secretary, a few notes from the command staff.”

“Yes, sir.” Laurens salutes again then turns on his heel and heads back toward their headquarters.

The air outside is beginning to warm and the men look fairer than they have for several weeks. It is astonishing what a change in temperature can do the spirits. Laurens walks peacefully for a while until he passes through Maxwell’s brigade. Then Laurens hears the familiar sound of Prussian shouted from somewhere to his left. Laurens walks toward the sound to see Von Steuben and Du Ponceau standing with a couple of officers.

“I am telling you, they have been counted and counted twice.” The Captain holds up his hands indicating the number eight. “Eight shipments of muskets. I saw the crates myself.”

Von Steuben says something to Du Ponceau and mimics the man's hand gesture.

The Captain sighs and shoots a look at his compatriot before turning back to Von Steuben. “I do not know what you wish to say, sir!”

“Can I be of assistance?” Laurens says as he appears at Von Steuben's side.

Von Steuben and Du Ponceau smile at the same time.

“Dieu merci!” Du Ponceau exclaims.

“What is the problem?” Laurens asks the captain.

“I believe something to do with the newest weapons shipment.” Captain gestures to the cabin behind him. “But I do not know his grievance.”

Laurens repeats the question to Du Ponceau who does the same to Von Steuben. They converse for a moment then Du Ponceau looks at Laurens again. “Il devrait y avoir dix.”

“Dix?” Laurens repeats. Du Ponceau nods. Laurens turns to the Captain. “He says there should be ten.”

The captain's eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Oui!” Du Ponceau says with a gesture to the cabin. “Où sont les deux autres?”

The captain clearly does not need a translation to get the point of Du Ponceau's question. Where are the missing crates, indeed? Not a loss they can afford. The Captain looks at Laurens. “I will sort this matter out with all due speed.”

Laurens repeats the message through the chain of translation and waits while Von Steuben returns his demands. “They say he expects the two missing crates to be found within the day.”

The Captain pales slightly but salutes his acquiescence. Laurens nods at the other two men as the Captain and his aid disappear into the cabin, already arguing about the state of missing supplies.

Laurens glances at Du Ponceau. “Il pourrait s'agir d'une erreur de bureau.”

Du Ponceau looks unimpressed at Laurens’ suggestion of the incorrect count merely being an error. In truth, Laurens feels the same. However, Du Ponceau allows a simple, “Oui,” in reply.

Von Steuben says something to Du Ponceau with a gesture to Laurens. 

“Oui, oui,” Du Ponceau says, his demeanor shifting. “Le Baron vous remercie de votre aide.”

Laurens nods at the thank you, “Je vous en prie.”

Von Steuben shifts closer, puts a hand low on Laurens shoulder and says something more with a strange smile. Du Ponceau sighs then says in French, “the Baron says you are a most useful and resourceful aide.”

Laurens glances at the Baron then back to Du Ponceau, cautious. “Je vous remercie.”

Von Steuben shifts his hand to the small of Laurens’ back and pushes just enough to encourage Laurens to walk forward, past the hut and closer to the tree line. Von Steuben then continues to talk with Du Ponceau translating a moment after as Von Steuben speaks, “And he is pleased with your assistance these past weeks and should be glad of your help more so, should you wish.”

“Oh?” Laurens replies trying to keep his breath even. 

Von Steuben has not taken his hand off Laurens’ back as they walk. Von Steuben also walks close beside Laurens so every few steps they brush against each other.

Du Ponceau continues for Von Steuben. “The Baron would be pleased to have your personal assistance on a more daily basis should it please you too.” Du Ponceau pauses, glances at Von Steuben for a moment, then back to Laurens. “For perhaps more than translating.”

Laurens clenches his teeth and stares hard at Du Ponceau, avoiding the Baron's eye. “Vous êtes son aide.”

Du Ponceau stares levelly back. “Je suis.”

Laurens and Du Ponceau do not misunderstand each other.

Laurens steps to the side, away from Von Steuben's hand. Von Steuben raises his eyebrows, a play at innocence and, in truth, none of them have said anything outwardly untoward; But Laurens is not new to this game and he will not play it here, not now.

Laurens bows once and makes a hurried goodbye. “Je vous remercie de l'offre. Bonne journée.”

Then he turns and walks quickly away, back toward the thick of the camp before Du Ponceau can finish translating to the Baron. Laurens does not stop his brisk pace until he makes it to Washington’s headquarters. When he takes his hat off inside and moves to hang it on its peg by the door his hand shakes. Laurens yanks his hand back against his chest and nearly drops his hat. He breathes in slowly through his nose then out again through his mouth.

He need not worry so, nothing truly occurred to injure any party involved. Laurens made his disinterest clearly known. Nothing should proceed from this point. 

He is well. He is fine. 

Laurens hangs up his hat. He cannot stop thinking, however, that there must be something about him, something Von Steuben could see in Laurens that inferred Von Steuben's hidden proposition would be understood and possibly accepted. Surely he does not make such offers to any soldier or aide-de-camp of the army? So what can he see in Laurens? What has Laurens failed to hide?

The sounds of footsteps coming down the hall breaks Laurens thoughts. He breathes in once again, then turns toward the house proper. Meade and Tilghman pass talking animatedly about what sounds like a recent battle field promotion. Laurens feigns interest in his coat as he pulls it off so they do not try to engage him in conversation. Then the two of them exit through the front door and Laurens abruptly shoves his coat at the pegs on the wall, nearly missing entirely. He could escape to his room to allow himself time to breathe but there is no guarantee the room will be empty. He could simply get to work with the notes from Washington to translate into French. The activity could distract him and set him to rights once more. However, either choice could prove to find Hamilton and Laurens does not feel as though he could face him right now. 

Laurens decides on a compromise. He turns and steps into the aide-de-camp office. He keeps his head down and moves briskly. His nerves certainly give off enough of an air of urgent business that Caleb Gibbs, Captain of the life guard but also a special aide-de-camp when needed, seated at the one table barely glances up.

Hamilton, in the corner, however does look up. “Laurens!”

Laurens crosses to Gibbs' table and picks up a stack of blank paper to add to his stack of French. He flashes a quick smile as well as he is able at Hamilton then turns and walks out the door again. Laurens picks up his hat and cloak once more then leaves by the side door. Lafayette’s headquarters sits on the far side of the camp. Laurens is relatively sure he can conjure an excuse as to his presence and Lafayette will allow him a space to work. As Laurens walks, he realizes he neglected to obtain a pen and ink. Laurens blows out a breath and shakes his head. No matter, Lafayette with have some.

As he walks Laurens thinks over and over, what it is he did wrong? What could have given him away? What is wrong in his nature that he has such behaviors? Laurens huffs at himself and continues down the road, reciting simple translations of French and English in his head to force his thoughts elsewhere.

Laurens returns to Washington's headquarters just after dinner. He avoids any food himself, for once, finding he has no appetite. Laurens pokes his head into Washington's office but finding the General not there, leaves his finished translations in the middle of the desk instead. Laurens glances at the stairs but it is too early to retire to bed. He moves toward the aide-de-camp room instead. There is bound to be some missive or report which needs transcribing multiple times.

“Laurens.”

Laurens turns at the doorway to see Hamilton coming in from the back door toward him. Laurens looks back at the office door way and tries to tell himself he has nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to apologize for.

“Laurens.” Hamilton touches his arm briefly. “You have been absent much of the day.”

“Yes,” Laurens replies and grapples for a reason in his mind. “I was assisting Lafayette.”

Laurens sees Meade seated at one desk in near the window, a stack of a dozen ready letters beside him.

“I see,” Hamilton says. “That is... well, have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Well, perhaps we should –”

“I am fine. I am not hungry.”

“Laurens,” Hamilton's voice drops. “What is –”

“I am not hungry, I need nothing.”

Hamilton suddenly grips Laurens' arm tightly and pulls him away from the doorway and a few steps back down the hall. “Why are you refusing to look at me?”

Laurens raises his head and meets Hamilton's eye. “I am looking at you.”

Hamilton frowns. He glances behind Laurens at the office then grips Laurens by the arm again.

“Hamilton...”

Hamilton pulls Laurens down the hall then marches them both up the stairs. He opens the door to their bedroom and, when he finds no one else inside, shoves Laurens through the door.

“Hamilton, you need not –”

“What has happened?” Hamilton asks seriously, staring Laurens down.

“I...”

“Do not try to evade me, Laurens; it is plain on your face.”

Laurens stares at him. “Nothing has happened.”

“You said such to me before but that was not the case nor do I suspect so now.”

Laurens sighs and paces between the beds. He rubs a hand over his face. “Only words Hamilton and none so damning at to cause alarm... I should not...” He drops his hand. “Nothing happened. ”

For a moment, the room is silent. Laurens hopes that possibly Hamilton will take him at his word.

Then Hamilton says, “I escaped the hardship of St. Croix with just words, Laurens.” Laurens turns his head sharply to stare at Hamilton. “I used words to describe misery and pain and this raised me up to bring me here, to New York, to a chance, to you.” Hamilton’s voice is hard and almost harsh. “So do not tell me words are nothing.”

Laurens stares at Hamilton in shock. Hamilton never speaks about his past, even in the barest of sentences. It is a door rarely opened except, apparently, right now.

Laurens nods. “Words matter.”

Hamilton raises his eyebrows as if he would have certainly brooked no argument. Laurens swallows once and nods again.

“So what were these words?" Hamilton asks gently.

Laurens clears his throat. “Fine, as you may have guessed it is in regard to Baron Von Steuben.”

“As most things are of late,” Hamilton says quietly. “And?”

“And, I aided him and Du Ponceau in a manner of miscommunication in passing earlier this day. Upon the finish the Baron asked after myself becoming an aide-de-camp to him for means of translating.”

Hamilton frowns. “I see.”

“Do you?” Laurens asks. 

Hamilton frowns further.

“That was not the whole of the question he asked. He did not say explicitly and I did not expose his true aim but we three all knew of what he spoke.”

Hamilton swallows once and nods slowly. “What happened?”

“I informed them I was agreeably attached to the General, wished them good day and left.”

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

“So, it should be well.”

“Should it?” Laurens snaps. “Do you not see Hamilton? Why ask me? His question clearly did not tend toward the need of my French but used it is a prop. He could use any manner of reasoning to any man. But why myself?”

“Laurens, you cannot think –”

“Think what? That I have erred in some way, that I must have given rise to....” Laurens cuts himself off and sighs heavily.

“You over react, Laurens,” Hamilton says, stepping close and touching Laurens' arm. “You have given no means to raise any such suspicions in anyone.”

Laurens looks away toward the window. “This must not be the case.” He looks at Hamilton again. “And I have no recourse.”

Hamilton huffs. “You have the recourse of the shared secrecy. To expose you would be to expose themselves, surely! I think the Baron has other means to satisfy his whims and you should not be worth any call to alarm.”

Laurens rubs a hand over his face again and shakes his head, staring at the floor.

Hamilton touches his face so Laurens looks up at him again. “You cannot let this man shake you so. I grant you it was a danger and you are right to be wary but the moment has passed and you rejected it. You have nothing to fear and no wrong done.”

“Perhaps,” Laurens says.

“Definitely.”

“It does make quite clear that such between us must cease.”

Hamilton's hand still on Laurens' cheek clenches. “What?”

Laurens steps back away from Hamilton’s hand. “We should not have continued as we have.”

“You cannot mean this.”

“They know of me, they do not know of you.”

“Stop it,” Hamilton hisses, gripping both of Laurens' arms now.

“Your love of women is well know,” Laurens says darkly, “you need not tarnish that. Nor may it be long before you choose one as a wife and you need not behave as we have. Better it end now!”

“Stop it!” Hamilton snaps, louder this time, and actually shakes Laurens once. “Do you not see me standing here before you?”

Laurens stares at Hamilton, the panic in his expression. Hamilton would not step back now even should Laurens truly wish so.

Laurens feels himself sag in Hamilton's hands. “I will not risk your life,” he whispers.

Hamilton's grip eases somewhat. “We are in war, Laurens.”

Laurens laughs despite himself.

Hamilton smiles back. “Did we not say we cannot expect safety but do our best?”

“Yes.”

“Our best is side by side.”

Laurens thinks Hamilton was right, words mean everything.

“Yes,” Laurens acquiesces. “Yes.”

Hamilton smiles and drops his hands from Laurens' arms. “Good.”

Laurens nods in further confirmation. “I am fine.”

“And calm,” Hamilton adds.

Laurens chuckles. “Yes.”

“Good,” Hamilton says again with the tone of a discussion ended. He pulls Laurens to him and kisses Laurens once. “And take that as a reminder of my place beside you.”

Laurens smiles, running a hand along Hamilton's jaw. “I shall not forget.”

“And you shall eat this evening.” Laurens laughs as Hamilton cuffs him once good-naturedly on the cheek. “You see, I forget nothing.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

 

In the days following, Hamilton does his best to keep Laurens at headquarters and far from their Prussian Inspector General. Hamilton offers himself as translator before assignments are given. When Du Ponceau arrives with any instructions to translate from French. Hamilton all but jumps up as a shield in front of Laurens to take the papers first. When Von Steuben visits the house, Hamilton makes his way to the front door first and casually blocks the entrance to the aide-de-camp office with offers of any assistance needed. Laurens would ask him to stop but he thinks, perhaps, Hamilton needs his actions even more than Laurens.

“I think you may rest easy Hamilton,” Laurens says to him as he sits beside Laurens once more with new French missives for both of them. “The drafting of the regimen is nearly complete.”

“Ah yes,” Hamilton says. “But then there is the training itself which the Baron shall be instrumental in performing.”

Laurens sighs. “I begin to tire of French.”

“Ha.” Hamilton knocks his knee against Laurens' under the table. “Do not let Lafayette hear you say so.”

“He might agree.”

Hamilton laughs again but only shakes his head as they continue with their translations.

 

It is the first day of the new training program when Laurens meets Benjamin Walker.

Laurens stands off to one side, Hamilton on the other with Von Steuben and Du Poneau in the middle. In front of them stand one hundred and twenty officers at attention. Laurens and Hamilton repeat when Du Poneau relays to them instructions from Von Steuben for each side of the assembly to hear. So far the swears are to a minimum. Von Steuben has actually one swear in English, so the 'Goddamn' comes across regardless of translation.

Not five minutes in, a Captain comes up and stops to the right just behind Laurens. Laurens ignores him for a moment, thinking it a matter which can wait, until the Captain clears his throat with a polite 'sir' attached.

Laurens turns with a frown. “Captain?”

“Captain Benjamin Walker,” he says with a salute. “I felt I should bring this to your attention.”

“Bring what?”

“I speak German.”

Laurens stares at him for a full second then blinks. “You speak German?”

“It is much the same as the Baron's Prussian dialect.”

“You can understand him?” Laurens asks with a gesture over his shoulder.

“Yes. He has a most creative repertoire of swears.”

“He does indeed,” Laurens echoes.

Walker nods. “I felt I should... report myself, as it were.”

Laurens smiles wide. “And very good too.” 

Laurens turns away and walks over to Du Ponceau. “Peut-on faire une pause?”

Du Ponceau frowns but at Laurens’ serious expression nods. Hamilton also frowns from the far side of Von Steuben looking rather alarmed at Laurens speaking to Du Ponceau alone; as though something untoward should happen now with over a hundred men present. However, Laurens flashes Hamilton a reassuring smile. The four of them walk back to where Captain Walker waits, as the officers are given leave to practice the use of their bayonets.

“And who is this, Laurens?” Hamilton asks.

“C'est le Capitaine Benjamin Walker.” Laurens holds out his hand to the Captain.

Walker salutes then address the Baron. “Eine Ehre, dich zu treffen, Sir.”

Von steuden and Du Ponceau both makes noises of surprise. The three of them begin conversing quickly in German, Walker subtly relaxing as they speak. Laurens gazes at Hamilton on the other side of the quintet. The two of them smile at each other. Laurens could cheer. The conversation continues for a minute longer; from the looks of it Walker is well on his way to becoming the new aide-de-camp for the Baron. Von Steuben cannot seem to look away from Walker

Du Ponceau turns to Laurens and nods, “Je vous remercie.”

“Mon plaisir.”

 

The next day Captain Walker becomes the primary point of translation between Von Steuben and the soldiers. The officers are put through rigorous training with and without their weapons. Some protested the rationality of training without their weapons but were soon shot down.

At first, Captain Walker tried to tame some of Von Steuben’s eccentric techniques to training but at Du Ponceau put it. “L'homme commun comprend de jurer.”

The ring of “Fucking faster,” “pick up your damn feet” and “pieces of shit” become far too common among the camp.

Hamilton and Laurens, however, still have daily reports from Du Ponceau to translate from French as Walker becomes solely occupied with relaying Von Steuben's verbal commands in training.

“They are on bayonets again,” Laurens says as he writes at the table catty corner to Hamilton. “I think Von Steuben may wish to fight the whole war with bayonets alone.”

“It would save on powder,” Tilghman quips.

Hamilton smiles and glances up. “Would make for far closer combat would it not?”

Tilghman laughs once. “As though you would not wish to be in the thick of it, Hamilton.”

Harrison sighs. “I worry more about feeding this force than fighting. If they starve before they take the field what do bullets or bayonets matter?”

“Fear not,” Laurens says. “We can sustain ourselves on Von Steuben's swears, there are enough to go round.”

Everyone in the room laughs at that.

Harrison stands up. “As it is, would anyone wish for some coffee or tea?” 

“Coffee,” Tilghman and Laurens say together.

Hamilton merely makes a 'hmm' noise as Harrison stops in the doorway.

“I shall assist you, Robert,” Tilghman says as he rises. “One needs to stand every few hours.”

Laurens looks up at Hamilton after Tilghman walks out of the room. “So, more than a week on and it appears Captain Walker will become Von Steuben's official aide-de-camp.”

Hamilton nods. “And well for him.” His eyes tick up to Laurens. “Far better than if some were given the job.”

Laurens gives Hamilton a look. “A job I could have refused.”

“Hmm.”

“And it is a moot point now.”

Laurens finishes a line then puts his quill down, picking up his finished translations. He stands then walks down the hall and taps on the door of General Washington's office.

“Come.”

Laurens opens the door and walks inside, handing the translated reports to the General. “Yesterday's report.”

“Very good, Laurens.” Washington picks up a sealed letter from his desk. “Would you be so good as to take this down to the Baron? I would not take you from your work but we are thin on the ground today.”

Laurens salutes. “Yes, sir.”

Laurens takes the letter and leaves the office. He cuts back down the hall and pokes his head into the aide-de-camp office. Hamilton looks up at him. “I am going to Maxwell's Brigade.”

Hamilton frowns, “To Von Steuben.”

“Yes.”

Hamilton puts down his pen. “I shall accompany you.”

Laurens gives Hamilton a look. “Hamilton.”

Hamilton shrugs. “I could do with a walk.”

“You do not need –”

“I wish to. I can spare a half hour.”

Laurens sighs but he also smiles. “Come then.”

The two of them don their hats and walk down the road from Washington's headquarters toward the center of camp. They walk in silence for fifteen minutes until they reach the billets of Maxwell's brigade. They hear Von Steuben echoed by a slightly quieter voice before they see them.

“Any new swears today, you think?” Hamilton asks with a grin.

“Give him a chance; I'm sure he could come up with one.”

They wait a short distance away until the men under instruction are left to practice some hand to hand combat on their own. Captain Walker notices them and jogs over to where they wait.

“Hello, Colonels.” He spies the letter held in Laurens' hand. “For the Baron?”

“Yes.”

“English?”

“Yes, the General wanted it down straight away.”

Walker sighs. “Wonderful.”

Von Steuben suddenly steps up behind Walker and snatches the letter from his hand. Walker starts slightly in surprise. Hamilton shifts closer to Laurens so he stands just slightly in front of him. Laurens should not find it endearing but he does. Von Steuben peers at the seal on the back of the letter then hands it back to Walker. He looks up at Hamilton and Laurens who both salute. He stares at Hamilton and Laurens for a moment in silence. Hamilton’s hand twitches near Laurens’ and Laurens knows Hamilton wants to grasp his hand.

“Ah!” Von Steuben says with a laugh then says something to Walker.

Walker's eyes widen and he nods, saying something briefly back. Von Steuben shoots Laurens a look then nods again. Von Steuben says something, points at Laurens then walks away. Laurens and Hamilton both turn to Walker. 

Walker clears his throat. “The Baron... the Baron says he was not wrong.” Walker frowns in confusion.

Laurens tenses. “I see.”

“Did he explain?” Hamilton asks carefully.

“He seemed to think you would know,” Walker says to Laurens. Something in Walker's expression, however, says he knows too.

“And you?” Laurens asks boldly. “What has he said about you?”

Walker raises his eyebrows and says by way of answer, “The Baron does not waste time.”

Laurens frowns. “I see.”

Hamilton looks back and forth between them then focuses on Walker. “So your new position pleases all parties?”

Walker nods once. “It has advantages.”

Laurens glances at Hamilton, tense and wishing to be just about anywhere else. Hamilton seems to understand because he turns back to walker. “I congratulate you, Captain, and wish you the best.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Walker grins at Laurens for a minute. Hamilton frowns, salutes Walker then puts a hand on Laurens' shoulder and turns them both away back toward headquarters. 

“It was simply a conversation, nothing more.”

“Yes,” Laurens replies quietly.

“A conversation about Walker's new position.”

“Come, Hamilton...” Laurens breathes in and out slowly, keeping his heart calm. He cannot help but see Walker's face, his smile. “Does he think it a game?” Laurens hisses.

“He is Prussian.”

Laurens huffs loudly and blows out a breath.

Hamilton squeezes his shoulder as they walk. “It is as I said to you before, Laurens; our exposure would be mutual and thus beneficial to none.”

“That is beyond the point, Hamilton.”

“I am aware.”

“And you are yet safe, I hope...” Laurens glances at Hamilton. Hamilton gives him a stern look back that seems to imply he would not let Laurens fall alone. Laurens smiles somewhat at that.

Hamilton looks away again and sighs. “It would appear the fortunate Captain Walker will occupy the Baron's time far better now.”

Laurens chuckles. “Indeed.”

Hamilton looks at Laurens. “And in truth the Baron does not know nor Walker. He believes he knows but he has naught to prove such by.”

Laurens nods. “True.”

Hamilton walks close beside Laurens, as though he himself could be a shield from suspicion. Laurens realizes as they walk, Hamilton feared just as much as Laurens did.

“We need not fear,” Laurens says, bolstering his own confidence. Hamilton looks at him again. “There is more important than us now. A war for example.”

Hamilton laughs suddenly. “A war, yes.”

“A war we need to fight in.”

“And gain a command in.”

Laurens huffs. “We hope.”

When Hamilton and Laurens return to the house, they say nothing more on Walker or Von Steuben. 

Tilghman meets them at the door with mugs of coffee. “We stand to make you such fortifying drinks and when we return what should we find but empty chairs?”

Hamilton smiles. “Thank you, Tench, but duty called.”

“Ah yes, a fine excuse.”

“Ask the General should you wish,” Laurens plays along. “I dare say he will apologize well for the cooling of the coffee.”

“I imagine he would.”

“Were he here.” Meade steps out of Washington's office. “He has ridden down to Greene's headquarters to review implementation of the training regimen. The Old Secretary has gone with him.”

Laurens forces himself not to frown. Is there naught to relate to Von Steuben of late? “Oh?”

“Greene has a mind to see if bayonets can be used before bullets in battle.”

Hamilton frowns deeply. “Would he have us shoot naught at all? Be well he would tell the British this plan and we shall enjoy quite a stabbing of a battle.”

Laurens cannot stop a snort of amusement echoed by Tilghman's chuckle. “I dare say the British would be so affronted by the suggestion we could get the upper hand by surprise alone.”

Meade claps his hands. “Then I say all for it.”

Laurens takes a sip of his coffee and casts a glance at the pages in Meade's hand. He reads something about Monmouth but cannot make out much more at the angle.

“Well, I bid you enjoy your coffee gentlemen. I must adjourn to the commissary general.” Meade hands the correspondence in his hand to Hamilton. “If you would be so kind, transcriptions are needed for all the commanders.”

Hamilton smiles. “It is the joy of my life.”

Meade chuckles “As in mine in determining we all eat.”

Meade turns to the pegs on the wall but finds his hat absent on the line. He picks up one but puts is down again immediately with a frown. Laurens takes his hat off his head and holds it out to Meade. Meade raises his eyes in surprise. 

“I need not venture out again before morning, you can do it justice.”

Meade chuckles as he takes the hat. “I thank you.”

“But do find your own,” Hamilton says, “lest you lead to poor Laurens' disgrace by your fault.”

Meade puts the hat on his head and gives Hamilton an affronted look. “I dare not risk such!”

Then he opens the front door and walks out into the cool, late afternoon air.

Hamilton looks at Tilghman. “Where is Fitzgerald?”

“Sent this morning as a courier to Virginia. He shall not be back for some time. We are spread thin.”

“The General said the same,” Laurens replies.

“And I should soon make it worse for you,” Tilghman says as he picks up his coat.

Laurens stops mid-way in another a sip of his coffee. “Oh?”

Tilghman smiles. “I am to escort Mrs. Washington to just outside the British lines in Philadelphia this night. She is to call upon the Rittenhouses. Some more support for the army I believe.”

Hamilton smiles. “Sometimes I feel she should attain a rank herself for all she does for us.”

Tilghman smiles. “Indeed, Colonel at least.”

Hamilton opens his mouth in affront but Laurens laughs before Hamilton can say anything untoward.

“Good luck in society, Tilghman,” Laurens offers.

“Do best not to burn his Excellency’s headquarters down,” Tilghman says. “Harrison is off to call on congress, requesting an increase in supplies. It is but the two of you guarding the house until late I am sure.”

Tilghman picks up his hat, bows briefly to both of them then walks out the door behind Hamilton.

Hamilton and Laurens stare at each other, each holding their mugs of coffee.

“The only ones in house,” Laurens says.

“Until late,” Hamilton continues, “several hours it seems.”

“One hour at the very least,” Laurens adds.

“Yes.”

Laurens worries his lower lip. “We said we needed to be cautious. With Von Steuben...”

“And he is not here,” Hamilton says definitively. “No one is here.”

“No one,” Laurens repeats.

“So we are cautious,” Hamilton continues. “We are careful and we are alone for an hour.”

Laurens nods, smiling slowly. “At the least.”

Hamilton and Laurens both abruptly put their mugs down on the small table near the door then rush up the stairs to the second floor. Hamilton hits their bedroom door first, all but falling against it then yanks it open with a stumble. Laurens hurries in behind him, pushing the door closed. As he turns around, Hamilton knocks him back against the wall with a rough kiss. Laurens makes an 'oophm' noise in surprise but kisses back immediately. Laurens wraps an arm around Hamilton, the other tangling up in Hamilton's hair, knocking off his hat which he had seemingly forgotten about. Hamilton pulls at the ties in Laurens' cravat, hurried and nearly choking Laurens on one attempt.

“I have my coat on yet,” Laurens chides, “wait.”

“Why?” Hamilton complains. “We wished for a moment alone and providence has provided. I need not have you clothed thus for a minute more.”

Laurens laughs as Hamilton kisses him again. “I submit.”

Hamilton makes a noise like a growl as he pushes Laurens coat from his shoulders. “Oh, indeed you shall.”

Laurens straightens up and pushes Hamilton back, freeing himself from the wall. He pulls at Hamilton's cravat with far more dexterity, removing it quickly so his hand may slide over the skin beneath.

“Indeed, you sir could use more practice.”

Hamilton makes a strangled sort of groan as Laurens finishes Hamilton's work of removing his coat then pulls off Hamilton's as well.

Laurens walks Hamilton backward until his thighs are stopped by the desk at the far wall. Hamilton gasps in surprise but Laurens kisses him again, cutting off his noises, running his hands up Hamilton's thighs until Laurens pushes him up to sitting on the desk. Laurens leans against Hamilton, forcing his legs apart until Laurens stands between them, Hamilton flush with the wall and his feet dangling off the edge of the desk. 

Laurens kisses down Hamilton's neck, sucking at his pulse point while his hands undo the buttons of Hamilton's waistcoat. Hamilton groans deep in his chest, his hands mussing up Laurens' hair, pulling at the tie keeping it back.

“Oh, you shall make short work of me Laurens if you continue so.”

Laurens chuckles against Hamilton’s skin. “We supposed at least an hour, did we not?”

Hamilton groans again and tugs at Laurens hair so Laurens gasps and looks up at Hamilton, the last button of his waistcoat undone. Laurens pulls at the buttons of Hamilton's breeches but must concede to himself that Hamilton's boots are most decidedly in his way should he wish for more than the swiftness they are often forced into. Laurens takes a step back and pulls at Hamilton's boot with a smile. Hamilton watches him, his waistcoat dropped on the floor now and his hands clasped over the edge of the desk. He breathes heavily.

“As well as you look in your boots, Alexander, I must say they trouble me now.”

“Do what you will, John.”

Laurens casts Hamilton's one boot to the floor then pulls off the second. Before Laurens can begin, however, Hamilton reaches down and unfastens the buttons of his breeches himself, watching Laurens as he does so. Laurens thinks he would gladly watch Hamilton remove every article of his clothing for as long as Hamilton wishes to do so. Laurens feels himself stirring and he drops down to his knees in front of the desk. Hamilton gasps hard as Laurens pulls Hamilton forward by his hips toward the edge of the desk, yanking Hamilton's breeches low. For a moment, he grapples with Hamilton's breeches and drawers caught between himself and Hamilton's legs. Hamilton laughs in a breathy manner until Laurens finally casts Hamilton’s breeches and drawers aside together.

Laurens rises back up onto his knees, pushes up the edge of Hamilton's shirt, then takes Hamilton in his mouth. Hamilton's hands are in Laurens hair again almost instantly, his thighs moving as if to thrust upward but he mostly contains himself. Laurens licks up and down, sucks him deep, Hamilton hot and his hands pulling harder in Laurens' hair but Laurens does not slow down, his one hand bracing Hamilton's thigh so he does not become completely carried away.

“Wait,” Hamilton gasps. “Wait.”

Laurens hums around Hamilton in his mouth but does not relent. Then Hamilton pulls Laurens back, one hand in Laurens’ hair, the other on his neck. Hamilton leans over to kiss Laurens, hurried and sloppy.

“Alexander, I want –”

“I want more,” Hamilton interrupts as he hops down off the desk and pushes Laurens back until he falls onto the bed.

Laurens smiles. “Alex...”

“My dear Jack, it has been far too long.”

“Yes.”

Laurens pulls off his one boot while Hamilton gets rid of the other. Laurens and Hamilton both try to unbutton Laurens' breeches at once, getting in each other’s way and laughing at their fumbling hands. Then Hamilton yanks hard, pulling down Laurens' breeches while Laurens shimmies out of his drawers, casting the lot to the floor with Hamilton's.

Laurens lies back on the bed, his head on the pillows. Hamilton lies over him not a second later, kissing Laurens’ lips, his neck, his jaw line. His fingers work at Laurens’ waistcoat somehow still on.

“Too many buttons,” Hamilton mutters as he kisses Laurens’ lips.

“I quite agree,” Laurens says as Laurens shifts up and they finally throw Laurens’ waistcoat aside. They press closer together, only their shirts between them now and skin rubbing against skin.

Laurens twists to reach under the bed for where he hopes still hides some lard. Hamilton rubs his hands over Laurens' rear, his fingers teasing.

“Wait,” Laurens chides. “You distract me.”

“You distract me!” Hamilton insists

Laurens finally grabs at a tin and flips back up again with it held in his hand. “Ah ha!”

Hamilton chuckles. “Well done.”

Hamilton takes the tin from Laurens rubbing some onto his fingers. “What a loss we should have been in had you found nothing.”

Hamilton slides two fingers down and into Laurens making him gasp. “Had that been so, I – oh Alex... I...” Laurens tries to continue speaking but the movement of Hamilton’s fingers muddy his thoughts.

“Yes?” Hamilton asks. “Had that been so?”

Laurens pushes down against Hamilton's hand thinking of little else. “It matters not.”

“No.”

Then Hamilton pulls his fingers away and Laurens cannot stop a small whine of displeasure. Hamilton works between them for a moment, the tin falls to the floor then Hamilton leans up over Laurens, shifting Laurens’ hips up for a proper angle. Laurens wraps his legs around Hamilton pulling him forward.

“Alexander, now.”

“As you wish.”

Hamilton slides slowly into Laurens, his hands gripping Laurens' sides. Laurens clenches his teeth for a moment with the pain but wills himself to relax. Then Hamilton is moving and Laurens moves with him and it is hot and slow and everything they both have needed and wanted. Hamilton’s hands on him, Laurens thrusting back and strands of Hamilton’s hair falling into his face. Laurens wants to moan loudly, to gasp and cry but he still restrains himself in that because there is always a chance alone could change.

“Jack...” Hamilton whispers, leaning as close as he can so Laurens feels the breath of his words.

Laurens grabs at the front of Hamilton's shirt to pull him down closer for a kiss. The angle is harsh as Hamilton thrusts and Laurens rocks with him but Laurens wants Hamilton's lips on his, wants as much as he can have, as they thrust and move faster, breathe quick and pleasure rising. Laurens wants to stay here forever. Then Hamilton is coming with a groan and Laurens a moment later, Hamilton’s hands on him. They are both still for a minute, breath slowing until Hamilton eases back and lies down beside Laurens on the bed, his face half buried in the pillow. Laurens turns his head to watch Hamilton, his eyes closed, red hair a mess now and sweat at his brow. Laurens thinks he could see this sight every day and never tire of it.

“We still have our shirts on,” Hamilton mutters.

Laurens snorts then laughs. “True.”

Hamilton opens his eyes and shifts his head on the pillow so he can look at Laurens properly, his one hand tracing lazy patterns on Laurens' thigh.

“I believe Von Steuben could have a swear or two for this.” Hamilton grins. “And would likely relish the tale.”

Laurens' eyes widen then he huffs in exasperation. “Oh, Hamilton! You will never again say such beside me in bed.”

Hamilton laughs then pulls himself up to kiss Laurens' jaw. “I promise.”

“Good, or I should banish you to the floor.”

Hamilton smiles slowly. “You would not.”

Laurens purses his lips and tries to appear severe but entirely fails. He rolls onto this side and kisses Hamilton slowly, his lips warm and perfect. “I would not.”

Hamilton plays with the strings on Laurens shirt as his breath returns to normal. “Would we had more time.”

Laurens chuckles. “You would tire me out so?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, of course.”

“An hour still is heaven enough,” Laurens says, watching Hamilton's face, his eyes. Laurens brushes the hair from Hamilton’s face. “And we have time yet.”

Hamilton grins wickedly. “I dare say we do.”

Hamilton rolls over onto Laurens and straddles Laurens' hips. “I have more wants yet.”

Laurens grins up at him. “I have no doubt.”

Hamilton leans down and kisses Laurens again, runs his hand over Laurens' neck, up over his jaw line, his cheek and into his hair.

“We are safe,” he whispers. “I promise you.”

Laurens kisses Hamilton, runs his hands up his side, under his shirt and across his chest. “Yes.”

“You are safe with me,” Hamilton says and Laurens believes him. “My Jack.”

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to keep this pretty historically accurate and time period appropriate. I do not think Baron Von Steuben would have likely acted this way historically and I do not guarantee that all the military methods are completely accurate. I tried to keep it as best as possible within the story line. Thanks for reading.
> 
> Also some references:  
> [Baron Von Steuben](http://www.ushistory.org/valleyforge/served/steuben.html)  
> [and more Baron Von Steuben](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friedrich_Wilhelm_von_Steuben)  
> [Valley Forge aide-de-camps](https://www.nps.gov/vafo/learn/historyculture/washingtonsaidesdecamp.htm)  
> [Washington Headquarters](https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/z/george-washington-headquarters-valley-forge-american-revolutionary-war-continental-army-encampment-isaac-potts-field-40505586.jpg)  
> [Washington Headquarters inside](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/161504804552/patsyjefferson-alexander-hamilton-and-john)  
> [Map of Valley Forge during the encampment](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/165735842377/so-this-is-a-great-map-of-valley-forge-during-the)
> 
> EDIT: I finally fixed this up time line wise and removed James McHenry! Sorry James.


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